


New Desolute.

by Nekoian



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:30:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekoian/pseuds/Nekoian
Summary: Llewellyn is just a guy trying to survive in a world of mutated human beings and destruction when he saves a group of brothers.





	New Desolute.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonlighten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/gifts).



> I borrowed (stole) some characters from my good friend Moonlighten (Alasdair, Arthur, Michael and Dylan) and encourage all to go read Moons fics. I will remove it if Moonlighten asks me to. Not sure I'll be updating this. I apologise for the low quality. e

There’s a mutant right in front of him, lumbering and gurgling, pale skin streaked by swollen wound like contusions of bulging muscular tissue that seems to sweat out a yellow-brown liquid, not unlike that of a blister. Llewellyn’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, he’s sweating despite the chill in the air; the back of his throat has begun to sting. 

The mutants that wander New Desolate are more than capable of being killed, one good ram from the car would probably rip it in two, but Llewellyn knows better. They’re like a hive of insects. When you destroy one the rest will follow the scent of viscera; track you down and…

He swallows; eyes quickly assessing his surroundings, the tall buildings are crumbling, road pitted and splitting from an onset of fresh trees pushing their way through. The trees that grow here become snarled horrid things; even mutants avoid them and their toxic fruits. Eyes to the rear-view then to the mutant. It’s digging through a pile of rubble and garbage, lifting pieces to sniff them before tossing some of it aside. 

Llewellyn winces when a chunk hits the bonnet of the car, bouncing twice then scattering out of sight. Whatever the thing is looking for it seems not to have found it, as it dives deeper into the pile. Seeing one of these monsters so close, the waxy eyes and skin. The warped and distorted bodies that were once as human as Llewellyn’s own, the way some of their bones push through the skin and form tears and lesions. You normally don’t get this close; but this arsehole hasn’t noticed the car driving slowly along, and Llewellyn (also an arsehole, clearly) hadn’t noticed the movement until a shower of grit, tin cans and old doll limbs had rained down. Now they’re locked in a standoff and the mutant doesn’t even know. It just keeps digging with its long claw-like hands, they look like human fingers that have fused and hardened, twisted fossils of what they used to be. 

Llewellyn’s hands tighten further, his jaw clenches, what is it looking for? He almost leans forward to get a better look, held back by a modicum of common sense and fear. He’d only wanted to see if he could find some extra supplies, canned goods are usually still in date and the odd abandoned car sometimes has spare parts. It seems foolish now; the camp feels very far away, the safety of the fences, the hum of the water filter, warm fire and smells of cooking and the sound of equipment being lovingly mended. This was a waste of petrol; he might need to attempt to fill up more containers if he can find a petrol station. 

The monsters head snaps up, entire body moving as it looks around for something Llewellyn cannot sense. He holds still when the eyes fall onto him, then relaxes as that waxen gaze passes straight through him, he finally starts to breathe again as it moves away. Whatever it was looking for has been forgotten; leaving Llewellyn alone. Such stupid things the mutants are, how they were ever human is a mystery. Why a very few remained normal an even bigger one. Everything seems to have mutated in some way. It’s a miracle to find the odd pure plant, especially if it’s a crop. Maybe that’s what the mutant wanted, Llewellyn thinks, maybe it just wanted to find a potato plant and make some chips. He relaxes with a breath of laughter. He decides to wait until he’s certain there’s no danger before starting the engine again and skulking home empty-handed. 

He’s about to start up the engine again when he hears the gunshot. It cracks the air and disorientates Llewellyn again, his eyes flick to the handgun at his side. Very few of these still work and they were rare before any of this happened. Half expecting to see the gun was fired, he lifts it, checks the bullets are all accounted for. Another gunshot sounds, he can hear a distant struggle, human voices and the shrill screech of the mutant. 

Llewellyn clutches the gun and throws the door open, skulking swiftly through debris as fast as he can. The sounds of a struggle get louder until he comes upon the mutant; it’s flailing and slashing its claws at a group of people, one of them brandishing a gun, another has a metal pipe and is attempting to hold the beast at distance from the mutant while his cohort holds the gun up in shaking hands. 

The man with the pipe gets thrown to the ground, struggling backwards to dodge the sharp claws of the beast, manages to jam the pipe into the mutant's mouth and pierce the flesh. It lets out a near human scream and claws at the wound. The man takes the chance to scramble to his feet and take long striding steps out of harm's way. 

“Shoot it, Dylan!” he cries, “it’s going to kill us if you don’t!” 

Llewellyn comes to his senses, raises the gun the best he can and fires a shot, the mutants head craters, spraying yellow and red gore. The recoil wrenches Llewellyn’s arm painfully and the sound deafens him, leaving a ringing in his ear as he watches the creature, once human, crumple to the ground.

A thick heady silence is broken by the monsters death rattles; the cold breeze that brings a smell of rancid meat to Llewellyn's nose. The two men regard each other with confusion before their attention diverts in Llewellyn's direction. They garble at each other before approaching. 

Llewellyn points the gun at them, “stay back,” he snaps over his ringing ears making the two men stop dead and raise their arms. The one with the gun slowly sets the weapon down on the ground and nudges it away with his foot, “who are you?” 

“I think the real question is, who are you?” a third voice, sharply cuts through the tension making Llewellyn turn his head to see a blonde haired man pointing a pistol in his direction. He has a terrified-looking teenager at his heel. 

“Arthur, please,” The man referred to as Dylan pleads, “nobody else needs to get hurt.” 

“We’re just trying to find a working car so we can get somewhere safe,” the tall handsome one with the metal pipe says, “Arthur for fuck sake put the gun down or he’ll shoot both of us!” 

Arthur muses over this a second before the gun swings down to his side, “where did you come from? We’ve not seen a single survivor since we left the manor.” 

There’s a stir of movement that makes the hairs on the back of Llewellyn’s neck begin to prickle, that noxious smell on the air begins to thicken and burn the back of his nose. He drops his aim and turns swiftly on his heel, remembering the other men near him only in passing, “you need to come with me.” 

“We’ll do no such thing.” Arthur steps in front of his younger charge, his hand fidgets restlessly. 

“Arthur?” The youngster points in the direction of a mutant as it slides into view over a pile of rubble, then another appears, and another.

Llewellyn bites the inside of his cheek, “get in the car with me or stay here and die, I don’t care.” He takes off, feet barely touching the ground in his rush to safety. He gets into the car and slams the door shut, wrestling with the key with shaking hands and nervous glances out all the windows. The engine sputters to life, the gunshot makes him hesitate, pulse thudding in his head. He can hear loud cries of distress and slams his foot down on the accelerator, kicking up dust and making the tires kick up gravel and dust. 

The car swerves around and Llewellyn catches a glimpse of the men he just met, valiantly fighting off the hoard of mutants. The car slams into tw6 of the beasts, a crunch of bone and metal that sends the hulking bodies flying, the brakes protest loudly and the engine stutters for a terrifying moment before growling again. The four men need only a few seconds to throw themselves into the car. 

Llewellyn is moving again, his heart pounding and his fingers gnarled around the steering wheel. There’s a buzz of terrified breathing all around, then the mutants focus their attention on the car, several dive at it just as Llewellyn gets it in reverse, he slaloms around a slab of concrete, the whole car jerks painfully as more mutants gather around them, drooling snarling faces and glassy eyes all fixed in their direction. Llewellyn ignores the shouts of his passengers and wa5ts for an opening before smashing trough and back onto the tattered road. 

Disfigured bodies pounce and lunge, one smaller creature lands on the bonnet with a sickening thud of gristle and glass, veins of white streak through the windshield as an arm collides with it. The mutants go flying when Llewellyn slams on the brakes, he tastes blood from his teeth slamming down on his tongue. Within a few seconds, the mutants are a heaving mass in the rearview with more appearing to gather around their fallen and wounded. Several rush past, ignoring the car for the most part. 

Then they hit the main road and Llewellyn releases his breath, heaving another in and wiping an errant tear from his face. 

“Thank you.” The man beside him stammers, the one named Dylan. He’s twisted in his seat to gaze behind them, frowning at the carnage they’ve left behind. 

Llewellyn’s heart stops when he hears the sound of the blond man's gun being cocked. There’s a light pressure from the barrel, “you have exactly five seconds to stop this car and let me drive.” 

“Arthur, stop it,” Dylan snaps, “he just saved us.” 

“We needed a car, didn’t we? I’m not trusting some stranger to take us anywhere, not when we have Michael with us!” 

“Stop being a prick, Art. You, with the ponytail,” the tall handsome one yanks squirms uncomfortably, the three of them are crammed in tight together, the youngest one is pale and cowering at the window, “where are you from?”

“Camp out in the country,” Llewellyn fixes his eyes on the road, “somewhere safe.” 

“A camp? Francis mentioned a camp, remember?” 

“Yes, yes, and I’m sure by some coincidence he’ll be there waiting for you with open arms. Grow up Alasdair, it could be a cult for all we know.” 

“If you shoot me and stop to take over driving the mutants will swarm you before you have a chance to get back in.” Llewellyn tightens his grip and glares out the broken windshield. 

“And how do you know that?” 

“They’re attracted by the blood of their wounded; the cars covered in it. I’ll probably have to burn it somewhere away from camp now.”

“Can you take us there? To this camp?” 

“Dylan!” 

“We haven’t seen other people since we holed ourselves up at the manor, we need food and shelter for Michael and I doubt we’ll get a chance this good in a very long time. So put the gun away, please.” Once Dylan is satisfied he rubs his temple, “thank you so much, you risked your life to help us. I’m sorry about Arthur, he wasn’t good with people even before the crisis.” 

Llewellyn makes a noise to show he’s listening when his eyes are focused on the landmarks he needs to find. His heart rate now plummeting he can feel himself begin to shiver. 

“What’s your name?” Dylan asks, “I’m Dylan Kirkland, you know Arthur and that’s Alasdair and Michael is our little brother. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. I’m useless with guns.

“Llewellyn,” he responds, “my name is Llewellyn.” 

\--


End file.
